


Enduring

by prettyshiroic (kcgane)



Series: Chronically Keith [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Gen, Group Love, Injury, all that wholesome team stuff is right here, dixon is iverson 2.0, everybody loves keith he is the best boy and we all love him, he is so wonderful okay, im not sure what else to write here im just a bit nervous tbh cos this is means a lot to me to write, keith centric hooOO boy, keith is so amazing i love him, lots of team dynamics, paladin team love, this was really quite emotional to write i do hope you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcgane/pseuds/prettyshiroic
Summary: Keith is made of fire.Resolve burns through his core, like molten rock churning its way through the lava that courses through his veins. Hot and raw and fiery. It’s not quite anger. It’s just fire, and it spreads into everything he does so easily and chaotically. The starry sea they fly through becomes ablaze when he’s piloting - sometimes literally when he and Red unleash the firepower. His eyes flicker and fire dances in them when Pidge says she wants to leave the team. There’s the dulled dwindling embers longing to be rekindled when the group are sat together in the morning, when Keith takes the risk to melt into the moment and squeeze himself into scenes he’s never been a part of before. And then there’s sweltering infernos that are unyielding and untamed as he charges into enemy lines, fights to protect and defend.Keith is made of fire.  So when the flames turn against him suddenly, it never fails to come as a surprise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay here we go. notes are at the end. quick warning bc there is an injury depicted in one scene, stay safe buds.

Keith has never been the kind of person who gets sick often. He’ll plough through whatever hits his system, ignore it as adamantly as he can. There are things to do that can’t and _won’t wait._ Time is a healer but only once you’ve jumped a few of its hurdles and _endured._ Time doesn’t wait around. Nothing waits, _people even more so_ . Demanding, _expecting,_ impatient. Faces bearing all these things flit in and out of his life - the only constancy. They pass like time on a clock. So Keith does the only thing he can: moves faster to pass them first. They’re hours, he’s _minutes_. They become minutes, he becomes seconds.

Keith manages to keep things that way, smooth and _aimless_ sailing through time without any sort of real direction, up until his fifteenth birthday.

Suddenly things change. Pain becomes an unwelcome guest to Keith’s life. It has the _manners_ to knock the first time, loud and unexpected enough to have him jolting awake and clinging to the sheets. He didn’t cry that night, even though he wanted to. Instead, he’d turned over and clamped shut his eyes, waited for it to pass like people passed like _time_ passed. Eventually it did. But then it knocked again. Then it stopped knocking altogether and just swept in so intensely and more _difficult_ to ignore. Keith will never offer it anything, no matter far it travels across his body and the effort it makes to show up on a regular basis.

It came in _uninvited._

And Keith thinks it’s _bullshit_ that out of everything and _everyone_ he has surrounded himself with, it’s _this_ that chooses to stay fixed in his life.  

Suddenly, things keep changing and don’t _stop_ changing. It’s appointments and hospitals and everyone _watching looking staring_ but nobody seeing. In the course of those years, Keith is passed between almost as many doctors as foster families. He remembers none of their names, even the little lady with beady blue eyes that smiled when she tucked him into bed one night. _Just one night,_ then the vicious cycle began again. New starts leading nowhere. New places heading nowhere. Tests that never get followed up collect dust somewhere in reception offices, results that are pointless because _Keith is fine._ There is not a problem, _he is the problem -_ the single _consistent_ factor to every equation that has him packing bags and zipping up a worn suitcase.

Pain is not a _friend,_ even if most days it nestles both inside and around his bones, embracing him. Even if it knows all of him so well, and stands by him. It’s not a friend. Nor will he give it the satisfaction of being a foe. Keith decides that on the train to the Garrison. He’s on the way to a place of discipline and hardwork. A place where people and everything they _are_ made of are neatly compiled into boxes. Categorised. Eventually then  _ranked._ Whilst the only thing that interests him is _flying,_ shooting for the sky where maybe things are weightless, breaking through this atmosphere and shedding the unwanted _invisible_ marks on his own skin, that’s a small comfort.

Because things are black and white, with no room for grey. There is no room for things that can’t be named - _diagnosed._ And this pain has never had the chance to earn a name, probably never will have one. It’s something that simply _exists._ Like him. When the train stops at the platform, Keith sets his gaze ahead and doesn’t look back. He can’t help but let the smile grow with every step.

This time, he will be the one walking away.

\---

Pain doesn’t go away. It even has the _audacity_ to bring some of its friends along for the hell of it. Keith doesn’t bother naming them, though fatigue shows up enough to become noticed. They clock in and out of his days, sadistic shiftwork taking place inside him. Keith can’t push past this one. He’s running by seconds most of the time as it is, pushing and _pushing_ through. They’re running by something far smaller and microscopic that doesn’t have a name.

On days like this, everything is glimpsed through a blurry telescope Keith didn’t _ask for_ . There are no stars here, just people that flock together and form their own constellations across the classroom. The shapes they make tell stories he doesn’t understand. But nobody asks for his either. So Keith hovers on the outskirts of all of this, sat quietly in the same corner he always takes during these lectures. There’s the clarity of reality twinkling in the distance and it doesn’t quite reach him. Only the echoes of it trickle into his grasp. He holds onto it weakly, unable to do much more when his entire being feels like _sludge._

 _Words_ are near impossible to process. But he tries to follow the paragraph Dixon is reciting anyway. Keith has always been a slow reader, even more so with English. It doesn’t _help_ that the letters are currently nothing more than _alien symbols_ on a page. The harder he looks the less sense they make. It all meshes together messily and without any meaning what does it mean _what does this mean._

“Kogane.”

Lifting his head up, Keith gazes over to Professor Dixon. Minefields explode behind his eyes with every blink, the wall building higher and higher between himself and the world. The telescope isn’t focusing on anything anymore. It’s just there, showing him things too far away.

“Sorry sir, I’m just - I’m a little…” He’s spent hours searching for a way to articulate this, to make someone understand. Nothing can ever quite describe it. “Tired.”

A scoff.

“ _Everybody is tired_ , Cadet. I’m an Officer, Instructor _and_ Lecturer in this facility.”

And with that, Dixon addresses the entire class instead. Keith prefers that. It’ll be easier to leave unnoticed. Glancing down at his shaking hands, he bites his lip. Nobody is watching, that’s only something that happens when he’s in the simulator. But he’s still horribly embarrassed. _Tired._ As he scans the room, he sees the signs of _tiredness_ everywhere. Dark circles under eyes, people slumped forwards in their seats, glassy uninterested looks.

“-Of who stayed up late marking your lousy papers, which you’ll all be retaking next week.”

Groans throughout the room. _Tired_ groans because people are _tired_. Keith doesn’t pack the book in his bag. He won’t be reading it anyway. _Everybody is tired._ Of course, Professor Dixon is right. It can’t just be Keith feeling these things.

“In case the word _lousy_ didn’t make it clear enough, they were all terrible.”

These things _don’t even have a name_. Against the overwhelming booming of his heart and twisting ache in his chest, he just about hears the Professor's words as he promptly leaves the room.

“All of you will need to try harder, next time.”

Keith makes a decision in this moment. Just like on the train. These things don’t have a name because they don’t deserve a name, _because they’re not real._ He’ll just have to keep working if he wants to touch the sky. Nothing will get in his way, especially himself and these things.

_Try harder._

\---

Takashi Shirogane enters, but he doesn’t exit. Not fully, at least. The door is left ajar with every goodbye, with smiles that Keith starts to wear as his own soon enough. And then there’s those eyes. They don’t _watch look or stare._ They _see._ Without Keith ever having to _say_ a word, Shiro somehow knows so much about him.

“You must be... tired.” He says one night to Keith when they’re perched on the rooftop beneath a blanket of stars. It’s a peaceful place to sit. No real disturbances, besides catching pockets of conversation from open windows on the fourth floor. Keith doesn’t care to listen, smalltalk and gossip aren’t anything that appeals to him.

“ _Everybody_  is tired.” He supplies a beat too slow, words ingrained into his mind despite six months having passed and it’s still stinging on his tongue.

“ _Keith.”_ A gentle warning of waning patience. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Well what _did_ you mean, Shiro.” Keith snaps back petulantly. He wants Shiro to be the catalyst, push back and cause him to burst because otherwise these words are never going to come out. And maybe _they need to_ . Maybe this is the conversation he’s been yearning to have for _years_ and the only person that is ready to listen is finally here _._

“You’re in pain.” It’s not a question. Shiro states it like a fact, like it’s _real._ He’s noticed. He _always_ notices. Eyes wide, Keith gapes. “And since it’s gotten colder, it seems like it’s gotten much worse.”

It’s hard to keep his eyes on the stars above, when he’s caught in the middle of his own personal supernova. This is _too much._ Time freezes, for the first time in his life time stops and lets him linger here despite how much he wants to move. The first shockwave hits, _Shiro is right_ . Maybe Dixon wasn’t. The slight drop in temperature brought with it a heaviness that is _felt_ and endured. It’s an amplifier for pain, but not for Keith. The things burrowed beneath his skin run deeper, last longer. The cold gives them more _substance_ , if that were even possible. But these things are _still_ nameless. Complaints that should be dismissed and ignored.

Only Shiro can _see_ them _,_ which either means they’re _real_ or that Keith isn’t trying hard enough.

“Keith. If there’s a problem,” Voice even and collected. It’s almost irritating if it weren’t Shiro. “You should see the nurse.”

Now Keith _is_ irritated. The force of the supernova presses into him, barrelling through the splintering composure.

“There’s not a problem. It - there’s never been a problem!”

_The only problem is sat right here telling you there’s not a problem._

Keith turns away as the second shockwave hits.  

When he turns back, the third is bigger and more catastrophic than predicted, it’s somehow _months later_ and Takashi Shirogane is gone.

With his absence, _everything_ dissolves into chaos. Keith’s world collapses. In place of that brilliant powerful supernova is a huge blackhole sucking everything but him into it. All that talk of adventures in space and piloting is meaningless now. The universe plucked it so swiftly from Keith’s hands, alongside any sense of well- _anything._ There’s nothing left to fight for, to _reach._ So Keith fights everything instead, reaching for nothing. He fights orders. Rules. His own body. Keith trains endlessly until the pain _that_ _isn’t real anyway_ has him almost blacking out by the time he reaches his room. He thinks about going to the nurse like Shiro said that one night. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t go back to the rooftop either. He ditches class. He skips meals. He disobeys curfew. He sleeps even less. He talks back. He flies even more recklessly, _not always in the simulator either_.

Rummaging through the classified files of Iverson’s office computer, the Kerberos file unopened but a mere click away from spilling its contents, is the final straw.

Immediately, everything shifts the way it did when he was fifteen. But also nothing like that at all. It’s colder. More detached. _Military._ Disciplinary that bleeds into an expulsion. Disappointment mutates into _disgust._ Drop out. Troublemaker. Keith didn’t expect he’d be packing again here. Not until he and Shiro were packing together to set course for places further than far. The Garrison was supposed to be where a new chapter began. But the ink smeared, unreadable sentences scattered over the pages. Like all the chapters that have been and gone, this one is unfinished. Brief. Devoid of any clear narrative, this time because Shiro is _gone._

They ask him to pack his things. The train will pick him up in the morning. Keith doesn’t pack. Past curfew, with a single satchel slung over his shoulders, he climbs out the window. The action has his body protesting, but he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. He takes an old hovercraft locked away in a very much quartered off hangar nine and drives towards the unknown. Keith doesn’t know what’s worse: that not one Officer patrolling the area follows him beyond the Garrison perimeter, or that for a foolish moment he wants to be deemed important enough to be  _chased_ after through the desert.

Hours, or maybe longer, lead him to a small shack. It’s the longest Keith remembers staying in one place. The rocking chair on the porch is rickety and loud, interrupting the stream of thoughts racing through his head. That’s more than fine. As the sun rises over the rocky mountains to the east, Keith comes to another decision. Different to the one on the train, to the one in the classroom. It’s got the be different, because it feels _real._ This pain he feels is a product of his own actions. It’s a mirage on his horizon that can be easily erased it _can be erased_ by _new actions_.  

Besides, something else is calling him.

He can _feel_ it.

\---

Something did call him.

Shiro crashes back into his atmosphere, accompanied by _others_ and together they’re touching the sky. Then _breaking through it_ they’re _hurtling into space_ and in a matter of seconds Earth is far, far behind them.

Though despite no longer being in the desert, the mirages don’t stop.  

\---

“Not me.”  Keith declares with a grin that he can practically feel digging into his aching skin, carving itself into the very bone. “When my head hits the pillow, I’m gonna be _lights out.”_

The strange thing about this statement is that it’s true. He notices out of the corner of his eye Shiro glance over, because Keith has always been someone that catches wisps of intangible dreams fleetingly rather than delving deep into long periods of sleep. There’s probably a glimmer of concern in Shiro’s expression. Keith doesn’t know because he’s not looking. But he assumes it isn’t outright, Shiro never pushes with this and nobody else seems to suspect anything is amiss. Because there  _isn’t._

He’s just tired.

After a long day like this, it’s _normal_ to be tired.  Who _wouldn’t_ be tired. Unwilling that voice creeps into his mind. _Everybody gets tired, Cadet._

It’s got to also be normal that the hug Hunk scoops he and Lance abruptly into hurts a little right in the same predictable places. That’s the only thing about this _thing_ that is ever predictable - where it hurts the most. Back of the shoulder close to the spine, enough to make him feel a little dizzy. Hunk is a big guy - _gentle_ and _warm_ which is a very good thing warm is good warmth is _needed -_ but also packed with strength. Keith’s muscles already feel like they’re bruising all over. It doesn’t matter. Because there are people right here and now in his life engaging and _including_ him.

“G-forces mess with your head a little bit?” he manages, hoping the smile masks the slight strain to his voice. The smile isn’t forced, but it takes the same _force_ of swinging his bayard forwards in the middle of a fight to keep it there.

When Shiro makes move to leave, Keith glances over to the doorway quickly. Maybe if he’s fast he can do the same. He doesn’t really want to talk about this. They’ve had a successful day, and Shiro definitely doesn’t need to deal with this too. Neither does Keith, _because_ **_this_ ** _isn’t anything._ It’s a combination of factors hitting his body at once. That’s all. That’s _all_ it will ever be. He takes his leave whilst Shiro pauses to talk to Pidge. His pace is brisk, despite his legs pleading for him to slow down and stop. But Keith can’t stop. They have a _war_ to fight, an _empire_ to defeat, a mission to-

“-Keith.”

Pausing in the hallway, damn he was _minutes_ from his room too, Keith turns to see Shiro. There’s a soft smile on his face. Maybe that’s the expression Shiro was wearing back there in the hall. Keith hopes so. He doesn’t want sympathy or _pity._ Though when the hand gently presses into his shoulder, rubbing small circles against the burning spot, Keith feels some of the tension wane. Shiro has always given him everything _but_ a pity parade. It’s always been sincere and real.

“We did pretty good out there, today.” He offers slowly, tugging his lips up as far as he can which isn’t all that far when they feel like fallen steel pillars fixed to soggy concrete mush that is his skin heavy against everything.

“Keith. The other day, when I….Did I hurt you?” Frowning, Shiro retracts his hand. The warmth and comforting pressure is something Keith wants to chase but doesn’t. _You’re in pain._ It doesn’t take long for Keith to realise just _what_ Shiro is referring to. The playful slap on the back a few days ago.

“No.” Lifting his head, Keith meets the other’s eyes firmly, as if _daring_ him to challenge that response. For good measure, Keith folds his arms across his chest, pursing his lips a little.

“Alright, _alright - at ease!”_ Shiro teases softly, holding up his hands in resignation. _“_ I know that look well enough.”

That draws a smile from Keith, who leans against the wall. It’s a comfortable position, and his body sighs in relief every time he commits to it. Small glimpses of fleeting respite, tiny subtle retreats from internal battles.

“You’re a great leader, Shiro.” He offers, eyes lingering a second too long on the prosthetic. Not out of anything besides concern for Shiro and what he’s been through. _Where were you._

Shiro has always been the glue. An intrinsic piece that holds things together regardless of how it may impact him. If it were possible, Shiro would hold up the _sky itself_ to keep it from crushing anybody else. He’s _grounding_ \- to _Keith,_ to the Kerberos Mission. And now, to team Voltron. There’s a swell of admiration that swarms around Shiro, has _always_ swarmed a little too intrusively around him. Shiro just has this _gravity_ about him. Keith’s seen it, _felt it_. He remembers the near _hero-worshipping_ back at the Garrison. Takashi Shirogane, former Garrison _trophy_ sculpted from perfection and made from gold. The shining _example_ to follow, not out of genuine awe but everything false and _insincere_ that serves a purpose _._ The thought _infuriates_ Keith _,_ is enough to hold his focus here and only here.

“Get some rest now, Keith.” _You must be tired. Everybody is tired._

Looking up at Shiro, Keith’s hand hovers over the shoulder. His fingers tentatively graze across it. Maybe it’s Galra, _so what._ The only thing Keith sees here is a _human_ that’s survived and has done whatever he could to keep people _stuck together_ . Shiro isn’t perfect. He’s not made from gold either. There are the shadows of monsters gnawing at his very self, vivid memories that encompass everything and sometimes leave nowhere to go but right into the heart of the storm over and _over_ again.

Shiro is **_enduring,_** more than Keith can even _imagine._

Far more than bouts of exhaustion and being _tired,_ that’s for sure.

\---

Keith is made of fire.

Resolve _burns_ through his core, like molten rock churning its way through the lava that courses through his veins. Hot and raw and _fiery._ It’s not quite anger. It’s just _fire,_ and it spreads into everything he does so easily and chaotically. The starry sea they fly through becomes ablaze when he’s piloting - sometimes literally when he and Red unleash the firepower. His eyes flicker and _fire_ dances in them when Pidge says she wants to leave the team. There’s the dulled dwindling embers longing to be rekindled when the group are sat together in the morning, when Keith takes the risk to melt into the moment and squeeze himself into scenes he’s never been a part of before. And then there’s sweltering infernos that are unyielding and untamed as he charges into enemy lines, fights to _protect_ and _defend._

Keith is made of fire.  

So when the flames turn against him suddenly, it never fails to come as a surprise. Almost a betrayal that something so intrinsic and **_part_** of him would turn without question or remorse. It turns fast and out of nowhere. And no matter how many times the sharp stabbing heat flashes up his arms or wraps around his bones, it’s a surprise. Today, his spine is the pyre that _burns_ all the way down. He’s engulfed in inescapable relentless fire. Every slash with his bayard comes with searing pain from his fingertips through every nerve travelling into his spine that is _burning._

 _“_ Argh!”

And it’s _still_ a surprise that the fire is submerging him like this.

“Uh… Keith?” Lance calls out whilst Keith lunges again. Then again. “I think the gladiator’s had _enough_ for today _,_ buddy. _”_

And _again._ He is _strong,_ has to be strong for _them_ for the universe _can’t be_ like this whatever _this_ is. Keith is a paladin of Voltron and nothing is going to stand in the way of him doing what needs to be done. Especially himself. Keith throws one more attack, teeth gritted and eyes sharp. It’s too much of a push this time. His shoulder pulsates and throbs with agonising pain that consumes everything. Lance has inched closer throughout the entire fight, eyebrows drawn together in a way that has to precede a _question_ . Throwing the bayard down, Keith gasps for air. The pyre is still burning, and his lungs feel full of the smoke from it. There’s not _enough_ air, and the fire has _too much power._ Claws with boiling edges slash inside his ribcage with every breath taken.

“I can beat it.” Keith says matter-of-factly, voice quivering and he’s fortunate the breathlessness from physical exertion alone can explain that.

“I think you already beat it a while ago, man.”

Lance laughs, but it’s not quite as rounded as it should be. He’s worried. But he’s also not _probing_ for explanation. It’s easier to roll with the assumption, that Keith is talking about the gladiator. Nodding quietly, Keith stares down at the bot. He’s barely made a dent in the armour, but there’s a small crack along the front of the chest. Slinging an arm round Keith who is perishing on the pyre that is his spine _,_ Lance hoists him up with a fond smile.

“Come on, muscle mullet.”

“Muscle. Mullet.” Keith repeats dryly, raising an eyebrow incredulously. He doesn’t tear himself from Lance’s grasp, appreciating the support in this moment. Just for a few more steps he’ll take the help. It doesn’t stop the burning, but it’s still _nice_ to feel another beam there that will reach out through the fire regardless and give a nudge.

“Dude, that was _intense_ just to watch!” The exclamation is open-ended. As they meet eyes, Lance’s small incline of his head indicates that Keith can take this wherever he wants to. It’s with a shrug that almost squeezes a gasp from him that he steers them into familiar territory.

“You could’ve joined in rather than just standing there _watching_ . It was a _joint_ exercise.” Keith thinks it was anyway, he can’t really remember the details of how they got there and what started the training session. His mind is thick unpleasant sludge - the consistency of green goo. Lance simply smiles wider because there’s no bite to the statement. There’s rarely  _real_ bite in their bickering nowadays anyway.

“Yeah but I kicked so much butt today I thought I’d be _generous_ and let you _try_ catch up to me and my awesome _awesomeness_.”

Keith snorts at that, and immediately it’s a mistake that has repercussions. Like someone has stepped on his stomach and cracked a handful of ribs just to pry the tiny sound out. They fall into comfortable silence after that, walking together down one of the many castle hallways. In the silence comes a realisation that Lance never burns. He _drowns._ Keith is a creature of fire that burns. Lance is a being of water - and though water can flatten flames and it just might stop the burning it doesn’t seem better or _easier._ Lance is swimming constantly in things too big to articulate. They’ve all been tossed into a current tugging them further from earth, from homes and families. Lance swims with it _never against it_ , even when turbulent waves of insecurity crash down on him. It weathers down his face when he thinks nobody can see.

But Keith sees. Because he _sees_ something in Lance that he _understands:_ endurance. And he respects Lance even more for that.

“Thanks, Lance. I- I’m gonna head to my room for a bit.” Pause. “And you’re right by the way, you... _did_ kick butt today.”

Pushing himself out of Lance’s hold, he takes off without another word. Heavy feet that sink into the floor and cling to it desperately barely move him forwards as quickly as he wants. But he gets there. It’s with clenched fists and narrowed eyes that sting that Keith sits on the edge of the bed. His body aches to be static, _still_. Even that won’t be enough to stop the burning. He knows this.

Keith is still made of fire on days like this. But he refuses to be _defined_ by it.

Everyone in the universe is _enduring_ something.

When set against the backdrop of Zarkon’s reign, of the millions of people suffering and _enduring_ across the universe, this is nothing.

\---

Red keeps the cockpit warm for him.

Because space is cold _in more ways than one_. Both kinds of cold are equally unpleasant, but the kind that doesn’t belong to the Galra empire is experienced instantly. Not to say the _other_ cold doesn’t make him shiver sometimes. Because it does. But it’s not tightly winding round his legs to the point it feels his heart might actually be beating down there and nowhere else, or ramming icy cold palms into the back of his neck with so much _pressure_ that doesn’t stop building. It goes rarely without release. Red purrs and the _vibrations_ of it have him clutching the controls so tightly just to keep in his seat and his knuckles are definitely white beneath the suit. Keith doesn’t realise the purring stops, because there’s deep unreachable aches vibrating through every inch of him.

“ _Hey_ , it’s fine.” He strokes the dashboard, the movement felt right up to the back of his neck and building further pressure there. Fire. There it is again. “I’m just…a bit tired.” _Everybody is tired._

And then they’re soaring back to the Castle with the others. The adjustment to space hits everyone in different ways. There’s no need to dwell on it, or give it much thought. Give it _meaning,_ or a name.

All of the paladins are _enduring_ the adjustment in their own way.  

“I’m not surprised you’re tired, with all the training you put yourself through before we even headed out here.”

Some kind of exasperated scolding - _almost._ Yet elusively neutral, and enough so to sound like nothing more than a passing remark that simply fills the gaps. Still, there’s something in those words that keeps everybody else quiet, as if waiting with bated breath for Keith’s own reply. _Shoot,_ Keith forgot the comms were on. How did he _forget_ the comms were on who _forgets_ their own comms are on they’re _always on_.

“If we want to defeat Zarkon, we have to get strong.” _Try harder._

“ _Stronger.”_ Keith expects it to be Shiro that calls him up on that and puts him in check, but it’s not. It’s _Hunk._ He said we, Keith _knows_ he said we. But Hunk apparently hears the intended  _I,_ and he sounds a fraction annoyed by the comment. It’s hard to tell without any visuals and his ears hurting. “Dude, you’re _already_ pretty strong.”

_Not enough._

“Yeah, I guess.”

Not enough to be a _defender_ of the Universe _._

\---

He somehow doesn’t really _feel_ being hit. Lately, it’s been a constant stream of days where pain overstays its welcome. Above the sensation of knives already poking at his ribcage, it’s difficult to discern when _a real one is_. Until it is grazing and tearing through his armour. But Lance is one hell of a _crack shot_ . Lance never fights like he’s drowning, and Keith never fights like he’s burning. Right now, Lance is water. A fierce but elegant _staggering_ torrent surging forwards. Keith can only stare, body no longer taking any of his commands. Of course, Lance has his back and _shoots the damn knife_ spot on before it even has a chance to plunge deep enough to stay in him. Keith hears the calamity the injury instills in his team, it’s enough to draw his focus down to the pooling red in his armour.

Pidge shouts his name in a way that has her voice _cracking_ and darts towards him. She’s a force to be reckoned with as she swings her bayard into whatever has the _nerve_ to try and stand in her way. Hunk is the first one to reach his side, strong arms tugging him close, keeping him upright. Pidge isn’t far behind, pressing her hands to the wound. There’s a tremble in her lips, shoulders shaking.

“You stupid stupid _idiot!_ ”

And there’s every chance she’s crying. Keith can’t really tell because everything is getting hard to process again only in a way he’s never known. But _god_ does he know that he hates every second of _this_ . Keith can endure, _will_ endure. The sounds of his team so _distraught_ over him, fretting over the wound in his side won’t be the last thing he ever hears. Like _hell_ is he ever leaving them here like this. Luckily, the wound is _much worse than it looks_ \- surprisingly shallow, he thinks Lance says that from the other side of him. There’s a press to his shoulder, and Keith doesn’t have to even _look_ to know it’s Shiro. Not that he _could_ look right now. The telescope he’s been gazing through all day is more like a kaleidoscope now. Deceptive and confusing patterns that won’t slot together without expending more energy than he has left.

“We have a healing pod prepared.”

Allura’s voice. Which is confusing. Because Allura isn’t even _here_ on the battlefield, she’s back at the Castle. Whatever she says seems to have the other paladins, who Keith assumes are close _they feel close,_ slightly more at ease.

“Yes.” Another voice adds, less enthused than usual. _Coran._ “Thanks to Lance, the wound isn’t fatal.”

“That was nothing, _Pidge_ is the one who applied the pressure quickly.” Lance doesn’t even try to accept the praise. He lets it ebb away from the current. It could’ve drifted beside him here for a while at least, something for _himself_ that he didn’t refuse. _Affirmation_ of his skills and talents. But Lance is swimming past it. And like the tide, his voice comes in and out of sharp focus in his ringing ears. Something something. Awake. Something something. Mullet. It washes over Keith then, a momentary overwhelming _tug_ back out of the haze. He tries to laugh. Mostly in disbelief Lance has said something like that _now._ He knows exactly _why_ and what it really means, what Lance has _given_ , and it’s another thing Keith finds incredibly anchoring about the blue paladin.

“ _Keith,_ man. You - you’ve gotta be like _superhuman or something_ because if I were you I’d be _crying."_ Hunk exclaims. “Wait - I _am_ crying and I’m not even _hurt!_ Keith!”  

“You’re doing great, buddy.” _I’m proud of you of everything you are and will be because you are going to be just fine_ is resonated through every word. And the _warmth_ of Hunk, the _pull_ of Lance, the _insistence_ of Pidge and sheer _gravity_ of everything _Shiro_ is pulls open Keith’s eyes if but for a moment. He’s unsure if he really wants to see this, because even _Shiro_ looks disturbed by the sight. It must be pretty bad, then. Yet still, there’s a stasis wrapped around them. A peaceful _calm_ found just once on the rooftop of the Garrison before things went supernova.

“But Hunk does have a point here. We don’t have any painkillers suitable to give, and you’re conscious enough to be responsive for most part. You must be hurting.” Pidge observes which makes Keith smile. Or try to smile anyway. It sounds much more confident and _assured_ but most of all it’s teeming with _curiosity_ in the way he’s familiar with. She sounds heaps better compared to the way she was talking earlier. Things stop spinning, and it feels like they’ve stopped. Wherever they are. Probably the Castle is Allura is still here. Maybe she wasn’t here. Keith can’t hear her now. Pidge asked him a question, he’s pretty sure. It takes a plethora of effort to piece together what it was she said.

_You must be hurting._

_Everybody is tired, Cadet._

_You’re in pain._

“M’kinda used to pain, really.” Keith will not remember admitting in a hushed voice against Shiro’s arms before darkness pulls him under completely and the pod opens for him.

\---

“Woah! Steady there now, Keith, my boy!” Coran is guiding him forwards as he stumbles out the healing pod. “Can’t have you tripping on your feet like a wild Eraminos on land.”

Slowly things slip back into place. The mission. The injury. The _team._ Smoothing a hand down the suit to where the wound was, Keith looks up at Coran who is beaming brightly at him. Whilst Keith doesn’t know what an Erami _whatever_ is, there’s something else here he wants to understand but maybe never will. And he’s _glad_ to not remember entering the healing pod because really it’s in the name - _healing._ So _really,_ it shouldn’t be here. _Why is it here why won’t it ever leave._ There’s still pain, and now he’s moving and putting weight on his feet it’s only growing. The usual places.

“The scan shows nothing out of the ordinary.” Coran leans over his shoulder to study the small screen besides the pod. “According to these readings, you should be fully recovered and feeling fresh!”

Keith doesn’t _feel_ anything close to _fresh._ It’s ridiculous and _unfair._ The word isn’t one that’s ever come to mind. But in the juxtaposition of what is being said against something continuously _unseen -_ that maybe isn’t even _real -_ Keith thinks that yes. It is unfair. He’s enduring, but that doesn’t mean it’s not unfair.

“But not everything can show up on a scan, I think I might know that better than anyone.”

Keith turns his head. This time Shiro isn’t gone he is _right_ _here._ There’s that familiar warm press against his shoulder to confirm it.

“You’re right of course Shiro,” Coran supplies. “Not to mention the castle could do with a heap of updates!"

“Yeah. Glad you mentioned that Coran,” _Where is everybody appearing from._ Maybe they’ve been here waiting for him to wake the entire time. Hunk pushes the goggles up to rest on his forehead. “Cos Pidge and I have been working on something. Pidge.”

The green paladin pokes her head out from behind Hunk, stepping into the circle that’s formed around the healing pod.  

“We think we’ve found a way to make modifications that will make our rooms warmer.” Pidge says _we_ , but she’s looking directly at Keith whilst pushing her glasses up. This time _Keith_ is the one who can hear who this is really for, and he is honestly _floored_ by this. All of it.

“There’s not much information up here in space about this sort of stuff, but we hope it’ll help.” Hunk twiddles his fingers, pushing them together at awkward angles. His eyes are cast downwards, studying the boots on his feet with newfound interest. “With what - you know, what you said.”

“What… what did I say?” Keith asks before he can stop himself.

There’s an exchange of _looks_ . Great. Fantastic. That has to mean he really said something pretty _significant._ For a moment nobody speaks, unsure what exactly to say. Then right on cue, Lance chimes in. His presence causes vibrant ripples through the room, fluidly shifting everything like water. Again, Lance takes everything and soaks it in whatever people need it to be soaked in. Linking arms with Keith, Lance grins and he leans forwards to waggle his eyebrows playfully.

“That the pilot of the blue lion really _is_ the most handsome-slash-best pilot of the bunch.”

The group is reduced to laughing at the words. Keith laughs through the feeling of bruised lungs anyway. It’s that or take a moment to think about everything the team have just said and done for him. Plus it’s _actually a little funny_. Keith tells him so, earning a gentle nudge to his side that despite everything he leans into. His eyes catch Shiro’s, who fondly leans over to swipe his thumb gently past the back of his head. And all these things, with these _people,_ the pressure is a little less.

“Keith, you’re awake! Thank _goodness_!” Allura clasps her hands together as she enters the room to join them. “How’re you feeling?”

Skimming the room, Keith rests his gaze on the reflection in the healing pod. There’s a smile in his eyes. His skin looks refreshed from the sleep. Maybe some things don’t show in what he’s _seeing._ But it doesn’t really matter. It isn’t any less _real_ just because it’s not visible _._ And these nameless things sure as hell will don’t _make or break_ him. They are there, but so are **_they_ ** _._

“ _Stronger_.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about this for a long long while tbh regarding Keith and have been continuously torn about whether i should just go for it and write the damn thing or not. as someone with a chronic pain condition that's changed a lot about my own life the past few years, i really wanted to explore this whole theme with a character who is physically strong and seen as this very strong agile person full of fire and motivation and drive dealing with something like this under the surface unseen, grappling everything that entails. i really wanted to try and put into words some of how it can feel and what things can be like sometimes. 
> 
> not just because it's (hopefully) relatable, but because i really do think a lot of these themes resonate nicely with Keith and his being. as you can see i touched upon some of the others too. Shiro and Lance in particular. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed the read


End file.
